The Battle for Skandia

by John Flanagan

  “Left front, position three!” he called, and the machine swung into action again.

  “Ready!” called Evanlyn.

  “Draw…shoot!” shouted Will. He gestured for Horace not to call the shields into position. As yet, they were not under attack. The more time he had to do damage to that mass of Temujai horsemen, the better chance he would give Halt and Erak to repel the Temujai’s main thrust.

  “Reload!” he called, and waited for Evanlyn’s call once more. When it came, he sent another volley on its way. As it started its upward trajectory, the first volley came down and he saw horsemen falling once again.

  “Left half left!” he called, swinging the aiming point to match the progress of the horsemen as they moved from right to left across his front. He called the elevation again, shortening this time, then another seventy-five shafts soared away with that now-familiar slithering sound of arrows scraping across bows. Now the horsemen were galloping and he adjusted the angle once more.

  “Left left! Position two,” he called. Evanlyn’s call told him that the men had reloaded.

  “Draw…shoot!”

  And now he heard the first sounds of close combat as the leading ranks of horsemen made contact with the Skandian lines. It would be too risky to try to shoot into the Temujai front ranks now, but he could still interdict the ranks behind them.

  “Left half left!” he called, and the archers swung their aim point back to the right by twenty degrees. Then suddenly, the air around him was alive with the hissing sound of arrows and all along the line his archers were falling, some crying out in pain and shock and others, more ominously, silent.

  “Shields! Shields!” Horace was yelling and the shield bearers moved into position—but not before more archers went down. Desperately, Will swung around and saw, for the first time, the smaller group that had moved forward to attack his position while he had been busy engaging the main force. There were about fifty archers, he estimated, all mounted, pouring steady, accurate shots into his position. Behind them rode another, larger group armed with lance and saber.

  “Target front!” he called, and muttered an aside to Horace: “Be quick with those shields when we need them.”

  The warrior apprentice nodded, watching anxiously as the fifty riders continued to shoot. Now arrows were thudding into his own shield, and into the earth rampart in front of them.

  “Position one!” Will called. This was straight and level—point-blank range. “Draw!”

  “Ready!” he heard Evanlyn call. Then Horace yelled for the shields to open and Will, almost on top of him, called for the release.

  As the volley hissed on its way, Horace was already calling for the shields to come back into position again. But even in that short time, another half dozen of their men went down to the Temujai arrows.

  Now Will noticed the red insignia on the Temujai shoulders and he realized why the standard of enemy archery had picked up in accuracy and rate of fire.

  “They’re all Kaijin!” he said to Horace. As he spoke, he raised his own bow and, shooting rapidly, emptied three saddles before Horace dragged him behind the shelter of his shield again. Half a dozen shafts slammed into it as he did so.

  “Are you mad?” Horace cried, but Will’s eyes were wild with pain as he looked up at his friend.

  “They’re killing my men!” he replied, and went to lunge out into the open once more, obsessed with the idea of stopping the Temujai specialists from picking his men off one at a time. Horace’s big hand stopped him.

  “It won’t help if they kill you!” he yelled and, slowly, the sense of it all sank into Will’s brain.

  “Ready!” called Evanlyn. He realized that it was the third time she had given the call. She was prompting him to action. Still covered by Horace’s shield, he assessed the position.

  The lancers and swordsmen, unhampered by any harassing fire from the archers, were already closing with the Skandians in front of his position. Hand-to-hand fighting was breaking out along the line. Farther to his left, the main body of Temujai were engaged in a savage battle with the center of the Skandian line. The position was too confused to see who was winning if, indeed, anyone was.

  Meanwhile, to his front, the Temujai marksmen, gathered by Haz’kam into a special unit, were cantering parallel to the Skandian defensive line, widely dispersed so as not to offer a massed target to his volleys, and engaging his archers with accurate, aimed shots as they were exposed. He knew that if he attempted to direct another volley at the Temujai, he would lose half his men in the exchange. There was only one solution now, he realized. He leaned over his parapet, yelling to the line of archers below him—a line that was now severely depleted, he saw.

  “Individual shots!” he yelled, pointing to the cantering lines of Temujai Kaijin. “Shoot whenever you’re ready and aim for their bowmen!”

  It was the best he could do. At least this way the Temujai would not be presented with an open line of shields as his men fired. They would have to react to individuals firing irregularly. It would give his men a better chance of survival. It would also lessen the effectiveness of their shooting, he knew. Without central direction, their accuracy would fall away.

  There was, however, one more thing he could do. He glanced down to make sure that the arrow bin in front of him was fully charged and quickly plucked four shafts out, nocking one and holding the others ready between the fingers of his bow hand.

  “Keep that shield up and ready,” he said to Horace, and stepped forward to the parapet, still concealed by his friend’s large shield. He took a deep breath, then stood clear and let the four shafts go in rapid succession, spinning back behind the cover of the shield as the first Temujai shafts whistled around their ears in reply. Horace, watching, saw two of the shooters go down to Will’s arrows. A third took an arrow in the fleshy part of his calf and the fourth arrow missed entirely. He whistled in admiration. It was remarkable shooting. He was about to say something to that effect when he noticed the look of total concentration on his friend’s face and decided to say nothing. Again, Will took a deep breath, nocking another arrow, then spun out into the open, loosed again and lunged back into cover.

  Now Horace began to truly appreciate the uncanny accuracy that had been drilled into his friend in the woods and fields around Castle Redmont, as Will spun in and out of cover, loosing off shots—sometimes one, sometimes two or three—and hitting mark after mark. The other archers in the Skandian force added their contributions as well, but none of them possessed the speed and accuracy of the apprentice Ranger. And as more of them were struck by counterfire from the patrolling Kaijin, the survivors became more and more nervous and arrow-shy, more likely to shoot without aiming, then dive back behind cover again.

  “Change sides,” Will ordered him briefly, gesturing for Horace, who had been standing to his left, to step across to the right. Horace shifted the shield to his right arm and Will ducked below the breastworks level and moved to Horace’s left side. He had been varying his shooting pattern, sometimes shooting just one arrow, and at others letting go a rapid volley, to keep the Temujai guessing. Now he decided that they were accustomed to seeing him appearing to the right of the big shield. He selected another four arrows and stepped to his left, shooting as he came clear. Two more saddles emptied and he darted back into cover again. The change in sides had worked for him. Not a single arrow had come near him in reply.

  He stepped left again, snapped off another shot and then, not knowing what instinct prompted him do it, dropped immediately to his hands and knees behind the earthworks. A vicious hiss split the air directly above him as he did so and he felt his mouth go dry with fear. Horace, seeing him drop, thought he was hit and went to his knees beside him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked urgently. Will tried a weak grin but didn’t really think it came off.

  “I’m fine,” he managed to croak around the dryness in his mouth. “Just scared to death is all.”

  They stood again, shelt
ering behind the shield and feeling the rattle of Temujai arrows against it. Will realized that the pattern had changed once more and the majority of the Temujai archers were concentrating on his position. It was a chance for his men to release another massed volley, he realized. But if the Temujai saw or heard him preparing them for it, the element of surprise would be lost.

  “Evanlyn!” he called to the girl, sheltering in her covered position below him. She glanced up at him, a question in her eyes, and he continued: “Relay my directions! We’ll get in another volley!”

  She waved her hand, indicating that she understood.

  Unwittingly, as they had concentrated on his position, trying to hit the elusive figure who darted in and out of cover and peppered them with a deadly hail of arrows, the enemy had begun to bunch up. There had been little in the way of effective fire from the other archers for some minutes now and the Kaijin had all moved toward the command position to get a shot at Will.

  “Front right!” he called softly, and heard Evanlyn relay the order. Nothing happened for a moment or so, then he heard her berating the men below her, shaming them into compliance. Gradually, one after another, they turned to face the direction she had given them.

  “Ready,” she called back, and he gave her the elevation: position one. The bows came up to the horizontal, then steadied.

  “Draw,” he said, and heard the order relayed once more. Then, taking a deep breath, he yelled: “Shields down! Shoot!”

  And a fraction of a second after, as the volley was still on its way, he heard Horace call: “Shields up!”

  Realizing that attention would be focused for some seconds on the line of archers, Will darted into the clear and poured arrow after arrow into the Temujai ranks. His archers’ volley struck home—he had less than fifty men firing now, but still a mass of arrows slammed into the Temujai riders, sending a dozen of them sprawling into the dust. Then another five went down under the hail of arrows that Will had let loose before Horace, diving at him, dragged him below the level of the earthworks before the Temujai arrows could find him.

  A storm of arrows thudded into the earthworks behind them. Horace rolled clear of his friend, dusting the dirt from his knees and elbows.

  “Do you have a death wish?” he asked. Will grinned at him.

  “I’m just relying on your judgment,” he replied. “I can’t keep track of everything in my head.”

  They stood behind the shield again and saw that the Kaijin, what remained of them, were edging away to longer range. They still fired at the Skandian ranks, but with far less effect than before. Will frowned as he assessed angles and positions, then pointed to the center of the Skandian line, where the main battle was still raging.

  “We can start shooting volleys again,” he told Horace. “If the shield bearers shift their shields to their right arms, and our archers stand to their left, they’ll be covered from return shots.”

  Horace studied the position and nodded agreement. The remaining Kaijin were directly to their front now, so that the line of archers could shoot diagonally toward the rear of the main Skandian army without having to move from behind the cover of the shields.

  Hastily, they called their idea down to Evanlyn, who relayed the directions to the men. The depleted line of archers looked at their young commander and nodded their understanding. Then a thought occurred to him.

  “Evanlyn!” he called, and she looked up at him, her eyes questioning. “Once we’ve started, you call the volleys. Keep them at position three and just keep them shooting. I’ll keep those damned Kaijin honest.”

  She grinned at him and waved a hand in reply. There would be no need to change angle or elevation once they began. The plunging volleys would be directed at the mass of the Temujai rear ranks. It might give Halt, Erak and Ragnak the respite they needed.

  “Face half left!” called Will. “Position three!”

  The forty-odd remaining men brought their bows to maximum elevation.

  “Draw…shoot!”

  He waited this time to assess the effect of the volley, making sure the men’s angle and elevation were correct. He saw arrows striking the support ranks of Temujai, saw the panic caused by the suddenly renewed arrow storm.

  “Keep them shooting!” he called to Evanlyn.

  He turned and shot at the thin line of Temujai shooters, drawing a brisk shower of arrows in return. Behind him, he heard the thrumming noise of another volley arcing away toward the main battle. He shot again, picking a target and seeing him fall. Then he felt a surge of excitement in his chest as the small group of riders began to move.

  “Horace! They’re pulling back!” he yelled excitedly. He pointed wildly to the line of shooters. Less than twenty of them remained and they were gradually falling back from their exposed position. Gradually at first, anyway—as they moved farther, they moved faster and faster, none of them wanting to be the last one exposed to the accurate shots from the Skandian lines.

  He gripped his big friend’s arm and shook him with excitement. “They’re turning it in!” he yelled. Horace nodded soberly, jerking his thumb toward the hard-pressed line of Skandian defenders below them.

  “Just as well they are,” he said. “Because these ones aren’t.”

  Below them, the Temujai swordsmen, dismounted now, were pouring through a gap they had forced in the Skandian lines.

  37

  NIT’ZAK, FIELD COMMANDER OF THE TEMUJAI FORCE ATTACKING Will’s position, had poured his men into the attack with reckless disregard. As the Kaijin engaged the archers, his lancers and swordsmen hurled themselves against the line of Skandian axmen protecting them.

  Nit’zak had sensed that this attack was a final throw of the dice for his commander. If they couldn’t break through this time, he knew Haz’kam would order a general withdrawal, unwilling to take further casualties in this campaign. The thought of withdrawal, of failure, was anathema to Nit’zak. He urged his men on now, willing them to break through the Skandian line and destroy the small but highly effective force of archers who sheltered behind it.

  The ground in front of the Skandian defenses was littered with the bodies of his men and horses. But gradually, they were driving the wild northerners back as their numbers were depleted and the defensive line became more fragile. Dismounted now, the Temujai swarmed up the earth slope, slashing and stabbing with their long-bladed sabers. Grimly, the Skandians fought back.

  “General!” One of his staff grabbed his arm and pointed to a small group of riders angling away from the battle. “The Kaijin are withdrawing.”

  Nit’zak cursed them as they rode away. Pampered and privileged, he thought. He knew they regarded themselves as elite members of the Temujai force. Kaijin shooters were excused the dangers of direct combat so they could sit back and pick off enemy commanders in relative safety. Now, faced with accurate and deadly return shooting for the first time in their lives, they had broken and deserted him. He made a vow that he would see them all die for their cowardice.

  But that would have to wait. Now, he realized, the Skandian archers were launching flight after flight of arrows into the rear ranks of the main attack once more. They had to be stopped. The sudden resumption of the deadly volleys could well tip the balance of the battle.

  Haz’kam had remarked that his deputy had no sense of the bigger picture when it came to warfare. But Nit’zak had an ability that made him a superb tactical commander. He could sense the crucial moment in a battle—the moment when everything hung in the balance and a determined effort from either side could make the difference between victory and defeat. He sensed such a moment now, watching his men struggling with the Skandians, seeing, for the first time, an element of uncertainty in the enemy. He drew his saber from its scabbard and turned to his own personal bodyguard, a half-Ulan of thirty seasoned troopers.

  “Come on!” he yelled, and led them in a charge toward the Skandian line.

  Nit’zak’s instincts were accurate. The Skandians, exhausted and bleedi
ng, their numbers depleted, were hanging on with their last reserves of strength and will. The Temujai numbers seemed never-ending. For every one who fell before the Skandian axes, it seemed another two rushed to fill his place, screaming their war cries and slashing and stabbing with their sabers. Now, as a fresh force drove into the line, dismounting and scrambling up the earth berm, the balance tipped. First one, then another Skandian gave way. Then they were retreating in groups, as the Temujai drove through the gap they had finally forced, striking down the fleeing Skandians as they tried to escape.

  Nit’zak waved his saber toward the line of archers, still pouring volley after volley at the main attack.

  “The archers! Kill the archers!” he ordered his men, and started toward them.

  In the command position, Horace threw down the bulky, clumsy shield he had been using and grabbed up his own round buckler. His sword slid from its sheath with an expectant hiss as he swung his legs over the parapet.

  “Stay here,” he told Will, then headed down the slope to meet the first group of Temujai as they clambered up toward him. Now it was Will’s turn to watch in awe as his friend went on the attack. His sword moved in bewildering patterns, flicking in and out, overhead, backhand, forehand, thrust, as he cut down the attackers. The first attack was driven back and now a larger group of Temujai moved toward the tall warrior. Again there was the clash of steel on steel, but now, as they threatened to encircle him, Horace was forced to give ground. Will looked down at his arrow bin. There were five arrows left and he began shooting: steady, deliberate shots to pick off the Temujai who tried to surround his friend.

  He glanced toward the archers. The shield bearers had grabbed up their own weapons and were moving to protect them. In addition, some of the retreating Skandians had regrouped at the archers’ position. Evanlyn was still calling the volleys, he noticed.

  “Keep it up!” he yelled, and she glanced around, nodded and turned back to her task.